


We've become the Hunted

by Ann5654



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Underworld, Angst, Character Death, Fantastic Racism, Hurt, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:04:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18886819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann5654/pseuds/Ann5654
Summary: They say we are monsters.We cluster together like savages, they say. We have no lovers, husbands, wifes. We only have mates to sate carnal desires. No better than any creature crawling in the mud.Because of them, the one I love is gone.





	We've become the Hunted

They say we are monsters.

  


Humans, sudler, non-magiques, no-majs,  _ muggles _ . They call us creatures. Monsters. Abnormalities. What did we do to them? We never hurt them. We never fought them. We hid in the shadows, undergrounds, deep seas and high mountain tops. We never mingled with them enough to expose ourselves. We rather fought ourselves, instead of including what some of us had once called ‘lesser’. How wrong those had been. 

  


They were witted. After catching one of ours and torturing them for information, they learned in few days every weakness we might have. Their bullets would tear through our strongest shields as if they were made of a spider’s webbing. We had no choice but to run, to flee. The wizards under us, we could pretend to be  _ normal _ , like they were. The others were not as lucky. 

  


Vampires dragged from their homes and into the sun. Werewolves caught with heavy nets and beheaded on the streets like mangy dogs. Merfolk caught in nets and left to dry out on land. I remember news of muggle born children killed by their mothers, discarded in dumpsters. Most didn’t reach the age of five.

  


Some of us would stay and fight. Eyes red in anger and grief for their fallen companions. Some would kill themselves, going out with a bang and taking whole villages with them. They called it satisfaction. I think it was pointless slaughter. On both sides.

  


\---

  


_ “Get down!” _

  


_ “Percy!” _

  


_ “God damn it! Newt! Move!” _

  


\---

  


They say we have no feelings, no humanity. We are different. We cluster together like savages, they say. We have no lovers, husbands, wifes. We only have  _ mates _ to sate carnal desires. No better than any creature crawling in the mud.

  


However, we hate, we cry, we laugh. We love.

  


I love. But because of them, the one I love is gone. 

  


We were leaving. MACUSA fell. We were running through the rain, apparating again and again and again. They were hunting us down, their machines sounded louder than the bombs I remember from the war. I remember running, one of my hands tightly on my case, my creatures, his hand holding my other in that iron grip. He smelled of fear, of desperation. 

  


Not many had ever dared to touch me so willingly. A necromancer is never good company. We meddle too much. Our gift for the dead is fascinating, but morbid. Even in our society, away from the muggles, we are not more than legends, tales and mystery. We have to teach ourselves how to wield our gift, as we are so rare, it would be a miracle if more than one is born every seventh generation.

  


But he never feared me. He never shied away from touching my skin, hugging me and kissing me. He would hold me after another session where I lend my body to another soul. He would kiss me as if I did not smell like death. His hands always gentle, despite the curse damage that made them tremble at the smallest tasks.

  


I remember his eyes. Inky black and filled with fear. How fear turned into defeated acceptance.

  


\---

  


_ “If you let go, Percival Graves I swear I will raise you from the dead to kill you myself!” _

  


_ “Run!” _

  


_ “Percy! I bloody swear to god!” _

  


_ “Run, idiot!” _

  


_ “I won’t! I love you!” _

  


_ “I know, I love you, too.” _

  


_ “Then why won’t you hold on?” _

  


_ “Because I need you to live, my darling idiot.” _

  


\---

  


They say we are incapable of loyalty, morality. They say we are born from sins and demons. Was it a sin, when my mother bore me? Her smile so full of love, the stars that night paled in comparison. Was it a demon, who saved that wounded englishman on the battlefield? Or was it simply my brother, helping and being heroic as he had always been?

  


We are no demons. We are not born of sin. We live and breath and feel. Not even our insides make us different from them. We have lungs, a heart, veins and blood. We need food to survive, we need others to not wilt and wither.

  


I remember the edge, the bridge. The murky water as black as his eyes as I did not cease the grip on his arm. His wet clothes were dragging him down. The white lining on his coat brown and dirtied from days in hiding. I remember shouting and crying. The icy metal of the edge cutting into my flesh. 

  


Then he smiled. 

  


A shot.

  


He let go.

  


\---

  


_ “Newt! Come! He’s dead! Come on!” _

  


_ “No! He’s alive! We can still help him!” _

  


_ “Let go of me! Percy!” _

  


_ “Take him!” _

  


_ “Percival!” _

  


\---

  


They say we are extinct.

  


We escaped and hid. At first, months passed by, hope of our survival still strong. Peace still in everyone’s mind. Then the first years came and went. Hope dwindled. With the first, official cleansing, it was snuffed out like a dying flame. We built a sanctuary, only few survive the way to us. Even fewer live long enough to feel the small freedom we can offer.

  


I remember waking to find my friends staring at me. They show me their hair, gray, and their faces, weathered. Then they show me a mirror. My eyes are empty, dull, but still emerald green. Skin, pale and freckled, but without a single wrinkle. My hair still a mess of reddish blonde curls on my scalp. With our libraries burnt, I have no way of knowing. I don’t know why I’m young, while my friends start to wither. I hear the whispers. They fear me. An immortal necromancer. It doesn’t happen.

  


I see them die. I’m young, still, but I see them wither away. Tina, my friend for many years, goes by the hand of a muggle. She’s the first to leave. Ever happy Queenie goes with regret in her eyes, asking me to inform the muggle’s family she once loved of her passing. The outrage her betrayal caused died with her last breath. I find Jacob, a man my own lover would have been great friends with, but only leave a note for his old eyes. He does not deserve to be haunted by ghosts.

  


More years pass. Decades go by and humans start cleaning the streets again. Tina returns, her form often flickering out of focus. A spirit. She convinces me to take the ‘throne’. The leadership of our Sanctuary. I don’t rule, I protect. Her spirit at my side is more often my only comfort.

  


At least once every decade we hear the news. Another sanctuary fell. Fear will spread like fire. It takes days to reassure the anxious people, but they calm eventually. We keep on hiding, but the whispers change with every decade passed.

  


I am safety.

  


I am Sanctuary.

  


Still, I have yet to be caught in a loving embrace again.

**Author's Note:**

> My first little work in this fandom, but a little prolog I wrote to get over my major writer's block :D This is just part of something longer I had not yet the time nor inspiration to fully devote myself to.  
> Sorry for grammar and spelling mistakes, I'm no native speaker :3
> 
> Please leave kudos or a comment, they would be very much appreciated ^_^


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